


Tethered to the Story (I knew we'd tell it well)

by softsocky



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: And I guess, Angst, Fluff, I have no idea how to tag, M/M, Phone Calls, Pining, Romance, and, but not really, mature for language and implied sexual content i guess, theres lots of:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 21:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/pseuds/softsocky
Summary: Bin buys a journal, and Dongmin gets sick.





	Tethered to the Story (I knew we'd tell it well)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, I busted this out in a few hours and all in one sitting. I was listening to one of my old playlists, and the song 'Turning Page' by Sleeping at Last came on, and basically sparked this whole thing. So, credit to that song (also where the title came from!) 
> 
> Mature for language and implied sexual content.

**Monday**

 

He’d bought it at a market he saw on his drive from the dance studio to his family home.

Not far from the edge of the city, but tucked far enough into lush greenery that it felt like a different world, Bin’s childhood home stood two stories high, was lively and electric and incredibly loud. He’d been born there – he went to school there, played there, learnt to dance there, but somewhere in the middle of his teens, his recruitment to Fantagio saw him sent to the centre of Seoul. At only sixteen, he was considered one their brightest dancers, and as time went on, he claimed that title with his singing voice, too. As years passed, he began to forget the smell of his timber floorboards; the feeling of the scratched kitchen table; the knobs on his set-of-drawers in his room. He had forgotten what his cats fur felt like between his fingers, the way its claws felt when he tugged a little too hard. He had been back only a handful of times despite the shortness of the journey, but now he was finally able to drive himself, he’d made it his mission to get home at least once a month. He had become accustomed to the stale smell of shut-in dormitories and teenage dancers, and although his love for Astro and his bandmates was stronger than anything, he missed the smell of _home._

And it was there, on the side of the road just two blocks from his turnoff, that he saw a small cluster of market stalls. He wasn’t sure what did it, but he found himself parking alongside the other vehicles at a make-shift lot on the roadside. He made his way through the stalls slowly, admiring the artwork and handiwork people produced, shutting his eyes at the divine smells of home-baking and fine local cuisine. He purchased a few heavily-decorated cupcakes to bring to his family, and turned to make his way back to his car when he spotted them.

The tent was farther in the back than the others, perhaps a last-minute decision to join the gathering. It was one small table, covered in a silk blue cloth, which contrasted prettily with the leather-bound journals that sat atop of it. Bin ran his finger along the leatherwork, the swirls and flowers and Hangul carved into their covers; admiring the colours, from a deep purple, to a classic brown, to a daring orange. They were all so beautiful, and Bin found himself itching to have one of his own. The pages weren’t lined, and they were thick, the GSM larger than Bin had felt before in a journal, and they felt rough to touch. A thin piece of ribbon lay flat in the centre, ready to use as a place-marker, and on its side, there was a matching piece to wrap the journal, to keep it closed.

Lingering on the deep, chocolate brown, Bin knew he couldn’t leave without it. He pulled out his wallet, handed the shopkeeper the correct change, and finally headed back to his car, the beautiful journal tucked safely under his arm.

When he pulled up to the house, he watched as the front door swung open, and his mum ducked out, hands raised in the air. As she got closer, he realised they were covered in batter and flour. He quickly stuffed the journal into his backpack, hauling it over his shoulder as he stepped out of the car and into the arms of his mother. Feeling her warmth, her breathe against his neck, smelling her again for the first time in so long – he couldn’t even bring himself to care about the cake mix on his back.

 

***

 

“So, Bin – how’s Minhyuk going?” Bin’s father had taken quite a liking to Minhyuk, as he had welcome Bin with open arms when he joined the academy. His father felt as though he owed him his life for making his ‘prodigal son welcome’. 

“Yeah, he’s doing great.” Bin took a sip of water, washing down his mouthful. “He’s actually doing most of our choreography now. He does run it by me now and then, but I trust him more than I trust myself at this stage.” His dad smiled, nodded, and took a drink himself.

“And Dongmin?”

Bin knew it was coming. Of course, he did. It was something his family teased him about ever since they had started watching some of their live videos and interviews. His mother in particular had noticed her son’s attachment to the other boy, not much older than he, and although Bin shied away from him at first, after having taught Dongmin how to dance during the earlier years, they had been inseparable since. She knew, everyone else knew, that Bin loved Dongmin more than a friend. It was easy to see, even if Bin wasn’t an open-book kind of person. And _everyone_ knew Dongmin felt the same way back. Hell, even _Bin_ knew how he felt about Dongmin – it just seemed there was no way to convince him to tell Dongmin of these said affections.

“Bin?” His eyes snapped up to his mothers. “Dongmin?”

He flushed. “Yeah, uh.” He fiddled with his chopsticks, an obvious sign to his family that he was nervous. Not that he had any reason to be, they already knew he was gay and that he loved the boy, just something about it still made his stomach churn. “He’s doing really well. As always. Improving every day, busier every day…” he trailed off, murmuring under his breath.

“What was that?”

He flushed, shrugging. “ _Hotter_ every day.”

His father chuckled, at both what Bin had said, and at his wife’s cooing and evil cackle from the other side of the table.

 

***

 

After dinner, they sat and watched TV, mostly in silence like they used to, but throwing in pieces of commentary on something in particular that stuck out to them. It was getting late, around eleven, when Bin’s phone rang. He didn’t even need to check the ID to know it was Dongmin.

“Hey Minnie,” he greeted, involuntarily smile down the phone.

There was a scratch down the line, and Bin recognised it as the sound of Dongmin shuffling himself underneath his blankets. “I miss you,” he mumbled out eventually.

Bin blushed, ducking his head. “I miss you too.” He could feel his parent’s eyes on him; he quickly lifted his eyes to check, seeing them smirking in his direction.

More shuffling, and then— “I wish you were here. I miss you holding me.” Bin was glad that he was already beetroot red, because he would find it difficult to explain to his parents that he and Dongmin had been sharing a bed for quite a few months now. It had happened during Winter, a night when not even hot-blankets or the heater would suffice, and Dongmin’s poor blood circulation meant his fingers and toes were turning blue. Bin had slid into bed with him, tucked Dongmin up into his arms, and held him all night, and every night since.

“I,” he stopped. He was open with his parents about this sort of thing, but he was still young and easily embarrassed, and very much wanting to avoid another safe-sex conversation with parents. “I’ll be home soon.” _Fuck_ , he thought. He was home – he was with his parents in his childhood home, the place he grew up, the place he knew as ‘Home’. His parents didn’t seem to notice though; their attention was back on the late-night rerun of some K-drama they loved. He noticed though. He noticed his words. What he didn’t notice was when Dongmin had become his home instead of his _home._

 

 ***

 

The call hadn’t lasted long, Dongmin falling drowsier by the minute on his end. Bin stayed on the line, listening to his breathing evening out until he realised listening to the guy you were in love with sleeping was somewhat creepy. In his room, he lay in his bed, and never before had he felt so uncomfortable and out of place.

The last time he had slept in this bed, he hadn’t even been recruited yet. He hadn’t been dancing professionally, and Astro didn’t exist. Dongmin didn’t exist to him yet. And that was sort of terrifying to Bin. The fact that such a huge thing could have happened, changing his perspective of everything, even changing the way he felt about this childhood home. He shuffled himself around on his other side, laid there for a few moments, before moving gain. After half an hour of pointless shuffling, Bin sat up. He switched his bedside lamp on, and dug for his backpack, pulling out the new journal and a pen.

Bin had never kept a journal before – not even when he was little. It wasn’t something that had ever appealed to him, so he wasn’t sure what made him want to start now. He also wasn’t sure why he started his first ever journal with the words ‘ _To Dongmin,’_ but it could have had something to do with the way his whole life felt better with him, or rather that he _was_ his whole life now. In love or not, Dongmin was his best friend, and my God Bin owed him so much. While Bin gave Dongmin the confidence to speak up and to dance and to introduce himself freely, Dongmin taught bin how to be kind and how to cook and how to _love._  And God, was Dongmin good at loving. He was so gentle and caring and all-round just so _soft,_ and Bin found it unbelievable that he had never found anyone to share his heart with. Whenever Bin had asked him about it, Dongmin had shrugged, saying that he just hadn’t found anyone yet. Bin would always feel himself droop with that knowledge. Dongmin, of course, deserved the world – and more – so finding someone worthy of him would be difficult, he just wished Dongmin would see a little bit of something in him that was worth his time.

Bin didn’t write much – just five words, five truthful words he should have said on the phone. He later fell asleep to images of a toothy-smile, blushing cheeks, and beautiful dark eyes.

_To Dongmin,_

_I miss holding you, too._           

 

**Tuesday**

The next day, although uneventful, was one of Bin’s favourites. He slept in till midday without anyone telling him to wake up (but he did miss the feeling of Dongmin’s fingers in his hair, his breath against his neck, the soft brush of his lips against the nape of his hair) and his mother had brought him breakfast (lunch?) in bed. After his shower and teeth, he sat outside on the porch while his mother potted around in the garden, explaining what she was doing to him, the meaning of the flowers, the colours. He drifted in and out of a dreamland, half awake, half asleep, listening to the gentle lull of his mother’s voice, and the hazy, far-away voice of Dongmin, beckoning him to come home.

He helped with dinner that night, too, and did all the dishes, allowing his parents to sit down and put their feet up. He was washing up the last of the plates when his phone started to ring in the other room. He froze, knowing it was Dongmin, and panicking when he heard the ringing stop and his mother’s voice saying “Oh Dongmin! Darling! How are you?”

Dongmin had met his family before – they had come to the city to their dorm a few times now, and they loved Dongmin almost as much as Dongmin loved them back. He knew Dongmin would already be in bed, despite it not being that late, but he probably has dance lessons with Rocky in the morning, or piano with one of his instructors. Bin smiled to himself as he dried off his hands, then hurried to the lounge room to snatch his phone from his mother’s hands. She scowled playfully as he did so, but shooed him off to his room as she dried off the dishes.

He waited till he was in his room with the door shut before he spoke. “Minnie?”

There was a rough sigh, and Dongmin said, “Binnie, hey.” He stopped. Then coughed, and then again, “hey.”

Bin chuckled. “Hey Min.”

“How are you?” Bin would find it awkward, this strange small-talk that they rarely ever did, but Bin had missed the sound of his voice so much that he’d take any kind of conversation he could.

“I’m doing good. What did you do today?” He sunk into his pillows on his bed, shutting his eyes as he listening to Dongmin ramble about Sanha playing up while his favourite Hyung isn’t here; talked about this new café he found that they definitely have to go to (“Did you take Jinny with you?” “What? Jin Jin? No way!” “Why not?” “I want to go there with you, Binnie.”); and a new dance move Rocky’s working on that he does not like one bit but doesn’t have the heart to break it to him (“When you get home, will you please knock some sense into him?” “Anything for you.”) He told him about his plans tomorrow, then asked him the same, then asked him again when he’d be home (“Soon. End of the week.” “But it’s only Tuesday Binnie!”).

Just as conversation began to lapse, Dongmin let out a huff, and had Bin been in bed with him, he would have felt it tickle against his neck, his hair. “Bin,” he grumbled. “Bin I miss your cups of tea. I had to make my own one this morning.” He sniffed, then coughed, like he had done earlier. Bin made a mental note to ask him about the tickle at the back of his throat later, to send a text to MJ to put extra honey in his tea, and to keep an eye on his fluids. “I had to make my own cup of tea Bin, and it didn’t taste the same.” He didn’t need to mumble out the _I miss you_ , because Bin already knew, because he felt the exact same way.

Biting back his words, he said to him, “I’ll be home soon,” and bid him goodnight.

           

_To Dongmin,_

_I miss making your morning cup of tea, too._

 

**Wednesday**

Wednesday came, but the weather was poorly – so Bin and his parents went to the local shops. They grabbed a quick breakfast, and then wandered around the stores that had been there for as long as he could remember. One store specialised in local crafts, much like those items found at the markets, but these were available every day and all year round. He took his time looking at all the items, smirking a little when he found some souvenir magnets, which he put in his basket for the dorm fridge, along with some hard-boiled lollies that were his favourite as a kid, and a pair of hand-knitted gloves that he knew Dongmin would love. Just as he was about to pay, he got the matching scarf, too.

The items seemed fitting, too, because when Dongmin called that night, his coughing was worse. “Baby,” Bin cooed. “Have you been taking care of yourself? I told MJ to watch over you.”

Dongmin groaned, but Bin wasn’t sure if it was from his head-cold, his sore throat, or from being babied by MJ. “ _Binnie,_ ” he let out breathily, halfway between a sigh and a moan, it seemed. Bin stiffened slightly, ashamed to admit he found the noise attractive, and opted to stay silent. “Binnie,” he started again. “I miss the sound of your voice.” Bin well and truly froze this time, overcome with a mix of embarrassment and hope at Dongmin’s words. “I miss your silly little stories you tell me when I can’t sleep, or even when I’m _trying_ to sleep.” He finished with a whimper, another cough, and then a groan of swear words at the dryness of it.

But again, as usual, Bin said: “I’ll be home soon.”

 

_To Dongmin,_

_I miss the sound of your voice, too._

 

**Thursday**

 

Bin was due back to Fantagio and his dorm on Saturday afternoon, for a Sunday morning radio session with the rest of the group, which left only today and Friday entirely free of commitment. Saturday would come with a combined breakfast and lunch at the neighbour’s house, with old-time friends joining to bid hello and farewell to Bin before he headed back. Although he did love everyone that was going to be in attendance, he hated how much they would fuss over him; how many comments were going to be made about his appearance, about his performances, about _his marital status_ , for crying out loud.

But that wasn’t until Saturday, and today was Thursday, which meant a long walk down by the creek like the three of them did when he was learning to ride his bike. They pointed at the birds and tried to spot eels and fish in the murky water, bin screaming a little when his father pushed him slightly forwards, or when his mother splashed him with water.

Moments like this made Bin’s stomach churn, gave him heartache, because he missed his parents so much, and they looked older than normal, tired and run-down, and he was reminded of how precious time truly was, and how he was wasting a lot of his by not seeing him family more, by not coming home more, _by not telling Dongmin the truth,_ his mother would’ve said had she known his thoughts.

But that was a headache in itself; the thought that here was, fulfilling that wish he had to see his family more, to stop wasting time with them, but all he wanted was to be back at the dorm, back with him bandmates and the tiny couch that couldn’t fit six growing boys but they all sat together anyway, back in his bed with Dongmin, the top bunk completely forgotten about. And he felt selfish because of it. He was with his family, he should be thrilled, but he just felt _homesick._

 

***

 

That night, Bin didn’t get a call from Dongmin at the usual time. He waited, phone at hand until it got to midnight, and Bin realised there wasn’t a call coming. He knew that he shouldn’t expect a call every night, and that he could very easily call him himself; but what if he was already asleep? Or what if he was too sick to call? As if on cue, Bin’s phone buzzed, the shrill of his ringtone loud in the silent house. Scrambling, he answered, Dongmin’s face and name on the caller ID.

“Dongmin? Min? Are you okay?” Bin didn’t let him get a word in. He was worried, borderline petrified, because Dongmin was _never_ awake this late unless something was very wrong.

There was a huff, which Bin realised was a pathetic attempt at a laugh. Dongmin was very sick, Bin realised. _Very._ “Dongmin?”

There was a scrambling, the sound of someone dropping the phone, and then a different voice spoke into the phone. “Bin?”

It was MJ. “MJ. What’s going on? Is Dongmin okay? What’s happenin—”

“Shhh! Brother, stop.” Bin stopped his ramble, breathing heavily. “Dongmin has a fever. The flu, it seems. Pretty bad, actually.” Bin was biting his lip so hard, he began to taste blood. He could picture Dongmin lying on the bunk, writhing around in discomfort, calling out to Bin like he always does when he feels unwell.

“We, uh. We took him to the hospital.” Bin’s back straightened out. He opened his mouth to speak, _to scream,_ when MJ cut in again. “Don’t scream, don’t freak out okay? They did tests and they said it’s a flu, yes, but not bad enough to need emitting. They said to just keep up on his fluids, keep him in bed, keep him _warm._ ” MJ chuckled, but Bin didn’t see what was funny. “He’s supposed to be asleep, but he kept insisting we had to call you. He can’t sleep without hearing your voice apparently.” Bin selfishly smiled to himself, relishing in the delirious mumbles Dongmin must be making.

There was rustling again, the phone being dropped again, a wild squawk (“Oi!”), and then deep breaths were coming down the line. “Binnie?”

Bin’s exterior relaxed, his brain softening and thoughts smoothening out. “Minnie. I’m so sorry you’re sick.”

Dongmin sobbed, tearless it sounded, but dry and painful. “Binnie, I miss you so much. Why did you have to go?” Bin’s chest ached, God, he loved this boy so much and he was partly why he was in pain. Bin knew Dongmin depended on him, for both safety and comfort, and for companionship, and Bin knew he should respect their friendship but it’s when he says things like that that Bin can’t help but imagine what it would be like to call him his own.

Bin doesn’t respond, so Dongmin continues. “Why did you have to leave me?” The whole sentence was choked out between more sobs, tears clogging up his throat, now, as they spilled over. He could hear the heartbreak, could feel the sick oozing off of him, off his boy. Bin listened to him sob, listened to MJ’s own cooing in the background, trying to calm him down. When he seemed to slow down, the tears settling, it fell so quiet that Bin thought he had maybe fallen asleep. Just as he was about to hang up, he heard him whisper, “ _I miss you so much Binnie.”_  

Bin said “I’ll be home soon”, and went to say goodnight, (he bit his tongue to stop himself from saying _I love you I love you I love you_ over and over until the magic of it all cured him of his fever) but by the time the words left his lips, he was already asleep.

 

_To Dongmin,_

_I miss you so much, too._

**Friday**

Bin was sulking. He had tried to call Dongmin this morning, only for it to be answered by MJ, telling him that Dongmin was fast asleep. They were giving him sleeping pills designed for people with the flu, and were trying to lower his temperature. He had been violently sick overnight, too, apparently throwing up half on the carpet, half into the bucket beside his bed. MJ said afterwards, it was nearly impossible to calm him down, as he was crying into his pillow, yelling out of him, _missing him._ MJ was laughing, because MJ was always laughing at Bin’s romantic misfortune.

Alongside his parents knowing about his love for Dongmin, the rest of the band knew, too. Although they were secretive about it, knowing that it wasn’t something to joke about, and was far from being their business, moments like this was fuel for someone like MJ. But Bin found that he no longer cared, because each day he was away from Dongmin, _the love of his fucking life_ , the more his will of silence about his feelings became to weaken. The thread that connected his logical side of his brain to his heart was beginning to rip, holding together by just a few strands.

Bin said goodbye to MJ, telling him to text him updates regularly, and that he would see him on Saturday when he got home. MJ hesitated slightly on that note, swallowed loudly, but then said bye and hung up. Bin wondered what MJ hadn’t told him, or asked him, but a knock on his door dragged him out of his concern. “Come in.”

His mum put her head around the door, smiling, as if to ask him to help with dinner, but she stopped when she was Bin’s expression. “Bin, darling. What’s the matter?” She stepped into his room, shutting the door behind her, despite his father not being home right now, and the house otherwise empty. Bin shrugged, not trusting his voice. But mothers had this magical way of knowing when something was well and truly wrong, not just a slight annoyance. So, when she asked “Is it Dongmin?” his will power snapped, and strangled sobs wracked through his body.

Her own eyes watered as she held him close, tucking his head into her neck, rubbing up his spine with her thumb and whispering into his ear, whispering sweet little nothings to calm him down, the same words she said before his first ever dance recital. Her warmth calmed him down physically, but his mind would not stop running away from him. She asked again, “is it Dongmin?” and instead of crying again, he nodded at her, unable to meet her eyes just yet.

She waited, knowing he was forming his words. “He’s sick, and,” he coughed up another sob, wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve before continuing. “Mum, I love him so much, and _he’s sick,_ and he’s asking for me. MJ say’s it’s all he’s been doing, and, _shit,_ Mum. I. I, I need him, and he needs me. And maybe not in the same way. Maybe he doesn’t love me the way I love him but I feel safe with him, safe in the way my training wheels on my bike used to, the way you make me feel safe, the way dad taught me to _be_ safe with self-defence. Remember him teaching me? I fractured my wrist in a fight at school?” His mum nodded, smirking at the memory. “But Dongmin is a different kind of safe. It’s like, a safety in myself. Like without him it doesn’t matter how much training I do, I’ll never be safe from myself, my thoughts and my feelings. Dongmin…he completes me somehow, we complement each other, and I don’t care if I never get to kiss him or love him or whatever else, I just need him in my life, and I don’t know how to-, the way to-. I don’t know how to tell him, Mum.”

At first, she said nothing. She brushed his hair out of his eyes, kissed his forehead, pulled a tissue out of her pocket. “He’s your home.”

Bin didn’t want to agree, didn’t want to hurt her. “No, mum, this is my home. You and Dad, you’re my home.” It didn’t taste like a lie, it didn’t, the words felt pure and true and real. But What about Dongmin?

She chuckled. “Yes darling, I know.”

He sobbed again, “I don’t know what to choose, Mum. I can’t lose you and Dad but I can’t lose him either.”  

Her eyebrows furrowed, genuine confusion spreading across her countenance. “Who said anything about choosing one or the other?” Bin didn’t understand, so said nothing. She smiled, expressing smoothing over. “You can have more than one home, you know.”

 

*** 

 

No words were needed. She just knew: Bin wasn’t going to be staying another night. After their chat, some sense seemed to be knocked into him. He quickly took a shower and when he returned from the bathroom, his mother had already packed all his things into the boot of his car. He hugged her tight, then hugged his father. He said _I love you_ over and over, making sure they knew, made sure they’d remember. When he drove away, the sun had set behind the hills, and nothing felt more appealing to him than Dongmin’s arms around him.

 

 

**Saturday (early morning)**

 

When Bin unlocked the door to the dorm, the apartment was deathly quiet. At first, he thought everyone was out, and for a moment he panicked at the possibility of them all rushing Dongmin to hospital – but then a dry hack caught his attention. Dropping his things by the door, he shucked off his shoes, and scrambled across the carpet to his bedroom door. He opened it without knocking, and although the blinds were drawn, there was a sliver of light that allowed Bin to see Dongmin’s body.

Curled up on Bin’s side of the mattress, Dongmin’s head was cocooned in blankets, black tufts of hair peeking up out of the top. He was coughing in his sleep, and shaking, but he didn’t look as bad as he had sounded the other day. As gently as he could, Bin pulled his trousers and shirt off, and climbed into bed behind Dongmin. They normally slept shirtless, and in just their boxers. When they had first started to share a bed, they stuck to pyjamas pants and sleep shirts; but after a while, and after the fear of morning erections fizzled away (and remained unmentioned when they did occur), they slept only in their underwear.

Bin slid in, pulled the blankets up around himself and more securely around Dongmin, and snaked his arms around the boy’s waist. He dragged him backwards, pulling his back against his chest, tucked his own head into Dongmin’s neck. He shouldn’t have, but he did – he pressed a long, opened mouthed kiss to the boy’s jaw, relishing in the salty but sweet taste. Dongmin shivered in his sleep, whined, and pushed back into his hold.

Over time, the shaking eased, and the coughing stopped. When morning broke, Dongmin was still asleep, but had more colour to his face, and when Bin extracted himself from his hold, he noticed that the shaking hadn’t started up again.

 

**Saturday (midday)**

 

Bin made his way out to the kitchen, seeing the exact moment the four other members noticed him. Knowing Dongmin was sleeping and still recovering, they cheered wordlessly, Jin Jin barrelling into him, nearly knocking him down; Sanha kissing his face over and over; Rocky, the forever best friend for this very reason, just waved from across the table. And MJ. _MJ_ dragged him into a hug, one unlike they’d ever shared. The only one they’d shared that was anything like this was the one they shared backstage months ago, when Dongmin had doubted himself on stage, causing Bin to cry and breakdown with him. Bin clung to him, the memory of it causing his eyes to start welling up with exhausted tears. MJ pulled away, eyes meeting his, nodding, and shoved him in the direction of the kettle.

Making the best ever cup of tea he had ever made for Dongmin, he grabbed his journal out of his backpack, and his pen, and took the steamy mug back to his room. He sat it in the bedside table, very gently snuck in under the sheets again. This time, Dongmin stirred slightly, but didn’t seem to fully register the situation. He shuffled around, resting his head atop Bin’s chest, leg thrown over his, arm sprawled over his torso. He fell silent again, breathing evening out, and Bin rested his head back against the pillow more comfortably. He was meant to write something in his journal; he had, for once, felt somewhat inspired to write something meaningful this time, something of purpose and of value. Something his mother would be proud of.

But his grasp on consciousness was slipping. Wrapped up in Dongmin, in Dongmin’s smell, in his arms, in his presence, was enough to put Bin into a dream-like state. As always, he dreamt of him – of his eyes and his smile, and his cheeky laugh and deep morning voice.

 

**Saturday (late afternoon)**

 

Bin found himself easing back into consciousness, a gentle touch across his forehead, the hairs on his arms sticking up something soft and supple brushed along his cheek. Fluttering his eyes open, he caught sight of the underneath of the top bunk. He was in bed, then. His head felt thick and hazy, and he wondered how long he had been sleeping for when he felt the softness against his cheek again.

He turned, and his heart lurched in the back of his throat. Dongmin was beside him, propped up on his elbow, staring down at him. He was still somewhat sickly looking, but no less beautiful – perhaps more so with his sleep-messed hair, and sleepy eyes. He leant forward, towards him, and pressed his lips to his cheek. They were _soft and supple,_ and he had been the one kissing his cheek all morning, kissing him awake.

“Minnie…” he shook his head, blushing at the next kiss that was given to him. “I’m home.”

Dongmin kissed him again, and again, then kissed his other cheek, then his forehead, then his nose, everywhere except his lips because Bin _knew_ that this wasn’t going to be what he wanted, but he dreamed anyway, caught himself watching Dongmin’s lips, imagining them on his own.

Dongmin hummed as he kissed his original cheek again, pulled away and flopped down beside him. He turned and face Bin, though, and Bin turned and faced Dongmin. Their faces were only centimetres apart, and Bin was oh-so very tempted to take his lips in his, but he didn’t, he _wouldn’t_ ruin the friendship they had. This was enough. Dongmin was his home, and there was no way he was going to set it on fire.

Dongmin, when he spoke, sounded scratchy but well on the way to recovery. “I didn’t think you were home till tonight?” It came out sounding like a question, and Bin watched the way Dongmin nervously bit his lip afterwards.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “But, I missed you too much.”

Dongmin blushed at the confession, but Bin didn’t – this didn’t embarrass him anymore, not with what else he could say. Just then, as he was going to ask Dongmin how he felt, he remembered the early hours of this morning. _He brought his journal to bed with him._

He quickly shuffled around, glancing atop and underneath the blankets, under the pillow, on the floor beside him, but came up blank. The journal was not there. Maybe he hadn’t actually brought it? _Maybe he’d imagined it._

Just then, Dongmin coughed. Bin turned to him, nerves a vicious cluster in his stomach, his throat, because Dongmin was holding his journal, _was handing it back to him_ like some kind of gift, like he had been the one to buy it, not him, or like some kind of sad re-gift, telling him _I don’t feel the same way._ And Dongmin looked embarrassed. His cheeks were impossibly red, and he wouldn’t meet Bin’s eyes.

Reluctantly, Bin took the journal from him, and then hesitated unravelled the ribbon to open it up. When he did, he flipped to the page held open by the book mark, read the ‘ _To Bin’,_ and the three words scrawled underneath it, and felt the way his stomach disappeared like it does on rollercoasters. Dongmin then passed a pen to him, sitting in the centre of the notebook, willing Bin to write something back to him, to write anything, perhaps, _just something._

But Bin had written so much in his life, and had said very little.  So instead, Bin pushed both the journal and pen away from him, grabbed Dongmin’s cheeks in his hands, and whispered against his lips: “ _Dongmin, I love you, too._ ”

 

**Saturday (one month later)**

 

Dongmin’s hands were underneath his shirt, tracing random lines across his chest, his stomach, before coming to a halt on his hips. His thumbs were dragging up and down his pelvic muscles, down the subtle v-line of his hips, while his lips pressed intensely against his. One of Bin’s hands was on the small of Dongmin’s back, the other resting on his ass – which squeezed now, eliciting a gasp from the boy on top of him. Dongmin yanked his lips away, gasping for air, but Bin took no time to latch onto his neck, biting and sucking and licking with the hopes of leaving a pretty purple mark, make sure everyone knew how well-loved he was, and how no one else got to have him. Dongmin moaned, and when he rolled his hips against Bin’s, he let out a high-pitched cry when their hips lined up just right. Bin moaned against his neck, and then there were hands on his belt, and hands pushes trousers down and then there were hands up shirts and taking _off_ shirts and there was fumbling and sighing and more moaning and more kissing until finally, _finally,_ Dongmin’s hands were on his and Bin’s on Dongmin, and Bin swore to himself he would never forget the faces and the noises that his boyfriend was making right now, he would never take this opportunity of making him feel good for granted.

He was close – he had never felt so close in his life, both physically speaking, but also emotionally. Ever since they had said _I love you_ for the first time, things had only been getting more intense. They were closer than ever, sharing more, together more, if that were even possible. Their bandmates openly teased him now, the secret out, and when Dongmin found out they all knew, and had known for so long, he teased Bin back. He was so close to him, he was _so, so very close,_ and they were both almost there when there was the sound of a door opening and a wild squawk that sounded far too much like MJ to be Dongmin, and then there was a _yelp_ and hands pushing at his chest. Bin cried out, rolling off the bed as MJ began screaming, Jin Jin behind him, face contorted in disgust, and _behind_ him, Rocky covering Sanha’s eyes as he peered over the heads of his hyungs.

When he hit the floor, there was a moment where he listened the outcries of his band mates, and although he was hidden by the bed now, and they could no longer see him, they had seen enough. Then instincts took over. He reached up and onto the mattress, grabbed Dongmin’s wrist, and tugged him down on top of him. He felt with an ‘ _oof!’_ and then there was another moan when their hips pressed together again _just right –_ and then a huff of breath against his ear from Dongmin, a lip being bit, and a cry being muffled as he quickly rolled off and pulled the sheet down off the bed and covered himself up.

The commotion by the door seemed to stop, and when Bin peered up over the mattress, he stared daggers into MJ, who took three steps back and slammed the door shut behind him. There was a shriek of ‘ _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit’_ and a ‘ _what the fucking fuck’_ from Rocky, but before he could ask Dongmin if he was okay, what he wanted to do now, what he wanted to _say_ to them, Dongmin was once again on top of him, same hungry look as before, and pressed their lips together again.

Bin said nothing, he just kissed back, and poured into the kiss whatever it was he never used to be able to say, but now wanted to say every damn time he saw Dongmin. He kissed him with an _I love you,_ and an _I miss you_ and a _you’re my home._ And then somewhere between kissing him and loving him and struggling to keep a clear head during the combination of Dongmin’s rolling hips and wild mouth, Bin was able to gasp out a loving “ _you’re my home”_ to him.  His hips faltered, and Bin said it again, “you’re my home.” And again. And again. And again, and again and again until the end of time, till the ink stopped, until the pages ran out.

And when that day came, when there were no more pages, he’d go to his first home, the one with his mum and his dad, and he’d stop at the market stall again and he’d buy another damn journal, and he’d carry it home to his second home, to the love of his life, and he’d start it all over again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me here on [tumblr](http://magnusbanes.tumblr.com/)


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